The bullets of war, they came out, of nowhere, shot through, these, paper-plastered walls, into our homes, and there it stayed, on that box that we turn on every day.
As the bullets of war, started flying they don’t hit us not directly, because we do NOT, live, ANYWHERE NEAR, those, conflict zones of the world, but our lives are still, impacted, as the reports of civilians, getting killed by those, random bombings, another suicide bomber somewhere……………
shattering, NOT just, only, these, panes of, glasses…
As the bullets of war, started flying, we’d all been, hit, even those of us, who live, tens of thousands of miles, away. As the bullets of war, started flying, living in these zones of war, we can only, duck and hide beneath, the paper-thin layers of our quilt covers, and, as night came, the bombs are still, flaring outside, the sounds so loud we can’t, drown them out, we live, in this, never-ending, nightmare.
As the bullets of war, started flying, the promises fell to the ground, and, shattered, like that porcelain doll, so pretty in her face, so, delicate, like our lives…